


Insult to Injury

by Atlantisqueenx



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlantisqueenx/pseuds/Atlantisqueenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric wasn't expecting to get a back full of glass shards- nor was he expecting Tris Prior as the one who would heal him. The vehement they have for each other is louder than the pain Eric feels, but what will it take for them to sit still in a room together? With the young Dauntless leaders brutality, and the young initiate's stubbornness, is it really a good idea to leave a mouse and a lion alone?</p>
<p>eric/tris ; oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insult to Injury

"Get it out. Get it out now."

Eric was hardly coherent, filled with nothing but unleashed ferocity.

Before he could demand the two blurry-faced men holding him by the arm to put him down, he was planted on a vacant medical table, being instructed to absolutely not lay on his back.

"It fucking..hurts." His top and bottom jaw crushed together. The morose reality of his situation was that he didnt even know what was hurting him. The dauntless leader remembered an explosion, flame, then darkness. He awoke to feel sharp lashes of pain all along his spine and shoulder blades, then several sets of dauntless hands; holding him down or carrying him.

It was so frustrating to remember anything, or to simply calm down enough to recognize the four figures standing around him in the room. Eric watched as his own legs violently kicked- an unintentional reaction to a sudden pain. It was caused by a hand propping up his back, and caused his violent elbowing to whoever was behind him. A hushed groan of pain resounded from whom was affected by the blow from Eric's elbow

"Eric, stay still. You're not hurt bad, but you _will_ be if you move around like that."

The voice was insistent, forcing Eric's gaze to the edge of the steel examination bed where someone stood. It was Four; standing with rigid scrutiny and seemingly fake-concerned eyes.

_Breathe. You have to calm down._

Though the pain only got worse as a hand began again to gently touch his muscled back, Eric finally felt his Erudite blood start to tower over his Dauntless fury. He realized that in order to survive, he needed to begrudgingly listen to Four and regain his senses- as much he hated obeying his comrade.

"What's wrong with me..?"

Eric asked, each word drawn out and hot. With fulfilling breaths through his nostrils, he began to recognize the faces around the room. The ones responsible for pulling him out of whatever mess he was in. There was Four, who more than likely was one of the two who carried him _(kicking and screaming)_ back into the compound. Close to Four was Peter, for some reason, who was lounged in the corner with arms crossed as if he didn't want to be here. Whomever was behind Eric's back, which, with a turn of the head, was revealed to be Uriah, and then Tris to right side, who frantically rummaged through the medical drawers.

Ah, Tris. Why was it when Four ever got involved with anything, she was always attached to him? The pain filled his body to the extent where his back felt as if it would be permanently crippled; which is why he felt like an idiot when Four told him what had happened.

"There was a minor explosion, thanks to those friends of yours. There was a set of windows that exploded. So now, there's a hell of a lot of glass in your back."

Struggling to turn his head to look over his shoulder, Eric found a concentrated Uriah trying to peel off the shirt that had essentially been attached to the Dauntless leaders' back. A little sickened by the sight of red circles painted on his gray shirt, Eric's head snapped forward to meet Four's ever-so-serious expression. Eric nearly bit his lip, speechless at how minor impalements inflicted such searing pain. Every time Uriah touched the shirt, the glass dug farther into his flesh with a hyper-realistic perception of each fragment. Silvery eyes clamped shut.

_Don't cry. Shit. Don't cry._

"I see."

Eric's closed eyes filled with a layer of tears that he forced inside. Nobody was allowed to see him suffer, especially not Four.

"Uriah, lets go. You're making it worse."

Four chastised the naive initiate that attempted to tend to his superior's wounds, stepping back instantly as it Four's words were deadly.

"Just trying to help, Four."

"I know, but leave Tris to this. She has medical training from her life in a Abnegation. I told you that."

Four remarked, turning towards the door as Peter and Uriah joined him. Tris heard as they began to exit, prompting her and her lover to share a few moments of intimacy through each other's gazes. She stood straight; confident. Four appeared more worried, visibly distrustful of Eric in the same room with his significant other. The former Abnegation member smiled reassuringly.

"I'll be fine."

"You come get me if there's any trouble."

Four was amiable in expression for a few moments before something changed- a fraction of a second devoted nodding at his injured counterpart. It wasn't a secret that their trust for each other was non-existent.

"Yeah, enjoy the only circumstance where a stiff will touch you so thoroughly, Eric."

Peter laughed while speaking, and rolled his eyes. Four dealt him a look that a cobra gives its prey before striking. And, with one last glance at the blonde girl beside Eric, nudged the two trainees out into the hallway and shut the door.

No, Four. Don't leave me with her.

Almost everyone in Dauntless knew that Eric had little self control. If he was pissed, he'd fight someone just to get the heat of it all out. If he was upset, most would expect to see him hungover for a few days.That's what Dauntless was for him: taking what he wanted. Being impulsive and not looking back. But when it came to Tris, he wasn't really sure how he could balance his impulsive. Though everyone knew about that habit, no one knew of his questionable feelings for the girl. Hell, HE barely even acknowledged the feelings. Would he finally break under the feeling of her languid, vestal fingers? No- he was thinking about it too much already. They were alone in each others presence.

Lessons in Self Control: Part One.

"Flip onto your back."

Never before in his life was Eric obedient to a stiff. She put up such an front of wisdom and assurance that he did so, the pain easing a little after flattening his torso against the flat table. With fingers that could have belonged to ghosts, Tris lifted the hem of his plain shirt and began to cut a path through the fabric, snipping around each shard that stood like arrowheads in the man's back. Eric grunted as short-lived bits of pain erupted against his skin, burying his face in his arms. Tris slowly began to peel the cotton shirt away from his skin, revealing a complex system of muscles that made his back full. Impressed was a very blunt way of describing her sentiments about his body. While Four's back was highly arched and lean, the battered shoulders of the man beneath her displayed pure power. Like an angry, wild horse that she once saw a few Amity members trying to tame outside the fence. No wonder Four feared him.

"This goes without saying, but be _gentle_."

Eric's barking voice wasn't anything close to kind, or a suggestion for that matter. Sometimes he tended to forget that he wasn't in the position to give orders. Tris snorted, recognizing the huge gap in her leaders priorities. It would most likely amuse her to make the process as painful as possible, but she decided against it, as he clearly was in unshakable agony. Her eyelashes fluttered over her half-shut eyelids that fought to conceal the pity within her eyes. Pity wasn't something she willingly gave to people like Eric- people who'd rather die than receive help from someone else.

"What were you doing up there anyway?"

Tris, using pliers, began to lightly grip at the shards in the large man's back, each piece making Eric clench his shoulders in pain. It was bearable, but still made him groan when she edged too close to a frayed nerve. It took him quite some time to remember. 

"It's not really for you to know, but I have some friends. Stupid ones, apparently," 

Eric winced, a moan of agony as another red-dipped slit of glass pulled from his skin. He didn't even think about turning around. It's funny how a Dauntless hated the sight of his own blood. With a jagged breath, he continued.

"They made some fireworks like a bunch of little kids. I went along, but wasn't too into the idea. So I stepped outside of the building for a second, and I'm guessin' they thought it was funny to set one off to scare the shit out of me."

Tris grinned to an extent that made up for the fact that she was alone in a room with a man she loathed. For playing with the initiates the way he did, for constantly singling her out. She consoled him, maybe just so she could possibly pull the rug from under him later.

"My friends are the same. They always end up getting me into things that I shouldn't be an-"

"Your friends? Four? _Please_. I'm not sure where that guy came from, but he's perfect stiff material."

Eric laughed his wolfish, throaty laugh.

"Just like you, yeah?" 

Irritated, Tris let the last piece of glass fall from the metal of the tweezers and into a small pile.  A breath forced through her nose.

"What exactly is stiff material? I'd like to know before we leave this room."

"Oh, you're giving me orders now, _stiff?_ "

Eric could almost feel his flesh burning from the insatiable flames in her voice. He sat up and faced the small blonde once she had carefully wrapped his chest in gauze. With every teasing, barely-there touch, Eric wanted her to sock him right across the jaw. Just to prove that she existed. His eyes were heavy upon her, full of denial. She wasn't Dauntless. But he wanted her to stay. The only way to entertain Lions is to let a mouse live among the pride. From his elevation on the table, their faces were at even height. Eric looked at her, graceful blonde swirls of hair falling near the soft curves of her neck. A smear of blood, most likely his own, wiped casually across her cheek.

"You're the injured one."

The hard, snarky look on Tris' face was what it took to push Eric to the place inside of him that was made of pure malevolence. He slid off of the flat examination bed, his herculean frame towering over the girl before him. The expression on her face turned from one of disgust to one of apprehension- Eric looked as if he could spontaneously erupt. His hazel eyes became weighted like stones, her accusations only fueling his complacency. With one prompt movement, he pushed her to the nearby wall and pinned her, her hands bound together by Eric's like rope. Tris then returned to looking traumatized, her eyes widened and knees thrashing.

"If i'm so injured, Prior, how come I can still hold you to a wall with just one hand?"

Tris huffed, speechless and taken away as Eric pushed his body against hers; a task meant to keep her legs from becoming acquainted with his groin. Eric felt himself smiling involuntarily, resisting the fight that the petite girl put against him. Only her hips were free enough to move, sending shocks of unwanted desire up his spine. Save her, Four. 

"Stop. I get your point. Youre stronger than me. Is that what you want? Is that what you wanted to show Christina when you made her hang from the chasm?"

"No, that was just about control. This-?" 

Eric shook his head, eyes softening as if he was explaining something abstract to a small child.

"This is a warning. You can make it through initiation, but be prepared to be pushed."

He spoke to her as if he was lending wisdom, but the way that his thick fingers began to grip at her hips felt otherwise. The small blonde turned her head so her cheek felt the gray wall, not giving Eric the satisfaction of looking her in the face any longer. Though she began to be still, her frame jerked again at the feeling of her superiors' nails against her tank-top. 

"Pushed? What, by sadistic creeps like you? This is what I get for helping you?" Eric backed up, chuckling through his closed lips. He watched as Tris' tiny fists clenched, preparing himself if she decided to try to punch him. She was right. But he was, too.

Was the gauze around his chest crushing his lungs, or was it just getting hard to breathe in here?

"Yes, in fact. You're too small. You won't last a week in a den of hungry lions." He turned his back to Tris, expecting some childish attack, but felt nothing but the gentle flow of air conditioning. 

"And I'm not sadistic," 

"Are you sure?" 

"Why?- "

You gave me a bruise."

Eric's eyes bolded, turning around instantly to see a small smudge of bluish-purple where neck and shoulder met on Tris' body. He stepped to her lightly, concerned only at the prospect that Four would find out. Otherwise, it was beautiful. A painting of defense her body had created on skin. Visible evidence that he had touched her. Maybe he was a sadist, but just a little 

"You took the glass out of my back. Let me to help you." 

As he took one step toward the diminutive blonde, she immediately interjected with outstretched hands.

" I'll be fine. You can't treat a bruise. Just forget about it."

"I won't forget about it. That's my problem."

His eyes had sunken under heavy lids, hazed with the urge to put his hands on her again. He didn't care where. Before she could attempt to pull him away, his squarish hands found the zenith of her hips, and his lips attached to the bruise. Just like leeches siphoning sickness from her veins. It was tender, as his upper lip grazed hard on the skin. She pried away as if ice had been pressed on her instead of his mouth.

"Eri- Four's going to-."

A slight cracking noise left her mouth, too disheveled to be a moan, as canines dragged against the sore section of her slightly tanned complexion. Eric removed himself, face blank with the stare of contempt that he usually wore. The fleeting moment of love had dissipated between the two, the human pheromones swatted away by the notion of one man.

Save her. 

"Pretend it's a hickey instead of a bruise,"

H e laughed. This time a real, genuine laugh. 

"Unless you want it to be a bruise, you masochist creep."

G rabbing his trashed shirt from the table, he left. Though his gait was heavy with the pain of the wounds inflicted, he was quick to leave. Not a last glance was given to Tris. It was not worth him having to, again, question his intentions.

Save her from me.


End file.
